Darkness Lights the Way
by helenheaven
Summary: Posted in honour of Tomione Day. Dark, destructive and left with no other choice, Hermione must go back, but to what end? Two-shot, COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling**

Could it be a lie or truth? The answer still evades me. A wish can seem a simple thing, until it draws misfortune.

Hermione wished.

She wished for an end to the war, a way out of the hell that had been created.

A way out of the world that was no longer light, but dark, and full of horror.

Voldemort had destroyed everything she had once held dear.

Now she stood alone, unfeeling, uncaring. She used unforgivables like they were bus tickets.

She broke bones like she was snapping sticks. She had nothing left to lose.

In truth, it could be said that her sanity was slowly slipping. Harry had been killed by Voldemort, the monster had ripped him bone from bone, skin from skin, flesh from flesh, until there was nothing left but blood. It had happened in front of everyone. In the great hall when Harry had been trying to get 'Tom' to repent. The dark lord had just lunged at him, putting those long, cruel fingers to work. And in their horror everyone had just watched, transfixed, as all hell broke loose.

Ron had gone crazy, cursing everything in sight, until one of his own curses had rebounded, hitting him in the chest. It wasn't fatal, but the amount of blood he lost as he lay there in the ensuing battle was. It was Hermione who found him actually. She has been going mad with searching, desperate to find him, and when she finally did it had been too late. None of Madame Pomfrey's blood replenishing potion could save him now. He was gone. And so was she.

For the next month the battle wore on. There were always those who would come to the side of the Order, even if some of them had their own agenda, they were all soldiers, and no one discriminated now.

All was lost. Conscience had given way to fear. A heart-wrenching, gut clenching, all consuming fear that griped the entire nation. Voldemort was triumphant. Those who opposed him were squashed, remorselessly, under the feet of his newer, larger following. There was nothing the Order could do to stop him and they were suffering from more and more losses and desertions every day.

Hermione felt bitter. She felt wronged.

This was not how things were supposed to be. Harry should have won, Ron should have been there for her. She should not have had to turn to the darkness just to survive. But she did, and still they fought, and still they lost. And on and on and on, until the blood of his victims washed the whole world red and Hermione saw only death when she closed her eyes at night.

It took her almost a year to devise the plan.

She knew the key to everything. Voldemort's continued underestimation of the power of love. Dumbledore had referred to it constantly. It haunted her nightmares and kept her awake in between, she must have missed something. There must be another way.

The plan formed itself around her subconscious, slowly growing in its nature, in its depth, until she could see no way out but to follow. In a way it was almost as though the idea had been planted in her mind my an unknown foe. But that would be impossible, Hermione reasoned. She was a skilled ligilimens, they all were. More and more frequently Voldemort would wage mental battles, as though he knew those who had not yet been broken in body could be persuaded to break in their minds. Their spirit was long gone, Hermione could almost laugh, spirit and soul were luxuries she could not afford. She could only calculate, and avenge, and re-gain that which she had lost.

She could only seek to destroy.

Her plan unfolded one Summer day in July. It was cold outside. The breeding of Dementors had become unstoppable so the whole country was cold and damp and full of sorrow. Hermione wondered if the Dementor's were wholly to blame for that.

She allowed the time turner to slip from her hand into the grass, then with shaking fingers she unclasped the small beaded bag that she held at her side. From within she pulled the broken shards of the elder wand. It was unbeatable, and yet Harry had been its master and he had been beaten. Somehow, deep down, Voldemort must have known. That was why he had killed Harry in a brutally horrific version of a muggle monster. He had ripped him apart with his bare hands, no magic involved. And the elder wand had slid from Harry's grip, no longer belonging to anyone. Hermione had reached the broken shards first, after Harry's remains had crushed them. She had gathered them up, right under Voldemort's lacking nose, and had ran from the hall to put them somewhere safe. When she had returned it had been to hell. And no one involved would ever be the same again. The dark Lord had been busy killing as many as his wand could strike. It had been bloodthirsty and brutal but at least the end had been swift. And that was the only, small happiness she could grasp at.

With the shards in her hand she cast a quick reparo. Her own wand was infused with dark magic. She had learned it in the intervening months, when she had also learned that what the dark lord had once said had been true. There was no good and evil, there was only power. Hermione refused to be the weak one. She had seen what dark magic could do, it could win, it could conquer, it could kill. It was the only way to come close to winning, and the rest of the Order was a shambles, the originals were mostly dead or half deranged, there was no longer a light side. There was only those still living, and they were the ones she had to save.

The elder wand put itself back together under her spell but it was crooked, and the wood felt brittle, as though a simple spell could rip it apart once more. It did not matter though, she thought, it had but one task to perform. Directing the elder wand at the time turner she concentrated everything she had on her goal.

"I need to go back" she whispered. "I need to change what happens, I must do this, I must! it is everything. And I am nothing."

The elder wand did not visibly perform any magic, but she had not expected it to. It was the time turner she was watching. The merging of the ancient power of the elder wand with the relatively new magic of the time turner. The two had never before connected, and now she was forcing them to confront each other. Light and dark, old and new, what was really the difference? She asked this of herself as she pitched forward, leaving everything she knew behind.

Fifty years before, she awoke.

It was dark and cold and damp, and she felt as though she was deep underground. Not that she could see anything, but she could sense, and her senses were not often wrong. It was the hiss that startled her, she had not been expecting that, it came from the darkest spot, behind her, and it echoed along the damp stone walls.

And then she knew where she was.

She felt, rather than heard, the thump as its long, scaly body hit the floor. Her eyes were closed but she sent out all her remaining senses, trying to detect its direction. As she had known it was directed straight for her. She summoned courage she had not known she possessed and stood, rising to face her doom. For doom it would surely be, faced with the basilisk whose only job was to slaughter mudbloods, of which she was most definitely one.

Suddenly in the darkness there was a hiss, it slithered around her, overtaking her fear, uniting her with her body. Giving her control over which she thought she had lost.

She turned and sent a curse flying in the direction of that hiss, her back was to the basilisk at this point but she knew to tackle it would be foolish. She needed to advance upon its master. Sure enough a counter curse was whispered, with some surprise, from the darkness, and then the basilisk stood down.

"Who are you?" came the voice , the owner of the hiss. And it was a powerful voice, one that demanded answers. It was a shame it was such a complicated question.

"I am me" Hermione answered plainly. "Clearly a muggle born or your basilisk would not have tried to kill me, do you need much more than that?"

She knew she was playing with fire, goading him, igniting a rage that came with being so frequently unchallenged. And yet, there was no answering cry in the dark, no unforgivable hurled her way. For now, she felt she had triumphed.

"There is not much that goes on in this castle that I do not know about, and yet, you are here, in the chamber, and I know not how you got here. Explain!"

His voice echoed around the room, bouncing of the stone walls and shaking down her spine till she felt she must give in, she must explain, she must tell him everything. And yet she did not.

"I know who you are." she called into the darkness, "I know who you are and I know who you will become. Show yourself, and I will be merciful in your demise."

His laugh was loud, and more terrifying than any command that had previously fallen from his lips. It was high and cold, unlike anything she had ever heard before, because it came from the lips of a boy, who was not yet the monster he sought to be. He was just a boy.

The light that surrounded them was eerie, with a greenish tinge. Only illuminating their two bodies and the stonework closest to them. She had no idea which part of the chamber they stood in, or where the basilisk was now. So she discounted all that she could not control and focused only on him, and who he was.

He was beautiful. She had never seen anyone so pure, and perfect and smooth. It was as though all his flaws had been brushed away, from his sleek black hair to his chiselled jaw and to his dark, dark eyes. In looks, he was flawless. She found herself trying to mark the similarities with the creature from hell that she was more familiar with. And found that she could not.

He was ageless though, out of time. She knew he was a boy, a prefect at this school, but she was unsure. He had a command, an air of practiced control that engulfed her, and all she had to do was look at him, and everything seemed far away.

"Who are you?" he almost hissed. "And what are you doing here? This is not a place that you should be, mudblood that you are. You are lucky that I am not speaking to your rotting corpse!"

She reluctantly dragged her attention away from his features and tried to focus on his words. It had been a long time since she had seen anything that surprised her. She was not used to the emotion, she was not used to any in fact. It was... unsettling, that she should find one here, with him.

"We are in the chamber of secrets" she mused. "I wonder why I came here?"

They stared at each other for only a moment before his wand suddenly twitched in his palm. It was a small gesture but she recognised its intention. He was tired of games, and he wanted her gone.

"Tom." she whispered. "I came here for you, don't you recognise me?"

He looked visibly surprised, but only for a moment, and then he schooled his features back into their usual look of menacing indifference.

"How do you know me? You are not from this school and I have never met you before. I think I would remember." He said the last part with a sneer and raked his eyes down her body. It was only at that point that Hermione remembered that it was the 1940's, and she was not dressed with appropriate modesty. During the journey her black jeans had been ripped to show a good chunk of her thigh and her black t-shirt was low cut and tight for the standards that were acceptable in this time.

She glowered at him. Trust her to time travel through the fabric of this very earth itself, only to be flouted at the first hurdle by a randy, teenage Tom Riddle and too tight trousers. She almost laughed for a split second before reigning herself in, but then she thought, why should she bother reigning in at all? She had gone back in time far longer than anyone had ever been able to accomplish. She was alive, she was in the chamber of secrets. And Tom Riddle was eying her up. There didn't seem to be an occasion where it was more appropriate to laugh so she let rip. It churned within her, deep in her gut, tumbling out of her in short, whooping breaths and turning, slowly, into deep, dark chuckles that wracked her whole body and sent tears down her cheeks. She couldn't remember the last time she had given way to any sort of _feeling_. She didn't know when she had last let herself go, and here she was letting over a year's worth of repression tumble uncontrollably out of her in the presence of a baby dark lord.

It only made her laugh harder.

Tom stood and watched her. This strange woman had descended here, right in the middle of the chamber whilst he was instructing his basilisk, and all she could do was laugh? Tom felt a flicker of anger, this was not supposed to happen, he was supposed to always be in control, nothing should shock him. And yet, she had managed it, she had triumphed over him. It was a small feat, and yet it was something, something that ignited his rage.

"Shut up!" he shouted, pointing his wand at her. She barely acknowledged it, no fear flickered in her eyes, she was calm and collected as her laughter quieted. It only made Tom even angrier. He smirked at her, letting nothing else slip in his demeanour. "Glad to see you have finally come to your senses."

"Oh Tom" she wheezed out weekly, still overcome by the effects of her mirth. "You really are exactly how I imagined you. Full of power but with no outlet? That must be hard, you should really try and control your emotions, someone might get hurt!" Hermione grinned at him, she could see she was goading him but that was why she was here, She needed to ignite all his emotions, his feeling must rise to the surface, only then would she be able to see what she was dealing with. Only then would she be able to control him.

Tom shook his head slightly, the smirk still in place. "You, my dear, are the only one who will get hurt. Now, tell me, what brings you to this place?!" He shouted the last few words, his cold, hard voice echoing of the damp walls and engulfing Hermione in his anger. She shivered slightly and she could see his smirk widen at her display of perceived cowardice. She decided to go with that for a bit.

"Oh Tom if you only knew!" She gasped, batting her eyelashes at him. "I travelled through time and space just to save you, your life is in danger Tom, and in the future, I- I felt something for you, something deep- I couldn't just let you die!"

She gasped out the last bit, only just managing to stop real tears from falling down her cheeks. Everything she said was a lie, and yet it was not. His life was in danger, from her own wand. She did feel something for him, a burning rage that fuelled her desire to see his throat ripped from his neck. It was something deep, something dark, and she triumphed in it, she had never felt so in control before. And Tom Riddle was to thank for that.

"You came through time? from the future? Is that even possible?" Tom was full of questions. He found her explanation plausible , if not slightly nauseating. If time travel had been perfected in the future it seemed only right that one of his fan girls would want to save him. Although in the future he would be older, he wondered why this girl was so young. He shook off his doubts and looked her in the eye. It was time to sort this out, once and for all. "Ligilimens!" He roared, not even bothering to use a non-verbal, she seemed without power anyway.

Hermione stood before him as his spell rushed towards her, a small smile playing on her lips. She had prepared for this, for the invasion, and she did not plan to stop it.


	2. Chapter 2

Hours later Tom awoke. He was lying on the floor of the chamber, that much he knew, for the light was tinged with green and he was cold all the way to the bone. He tried to piece together the events that had led to this moment, the mudblood and her mind. It had been treacherous, to delve inside with no prior warning. To see all that she had seen and feel all that she had felt. She had engulfed him in emotion, love so pure and powerful that he had almost longed to feel such a thing himself. And all the while the snake-like face of his own future self haunted the edges of her conscious with unrelenting power and magnificence.

He paused for a moment, in her mind he was winning, his destruction of the opposition was almost total. And yet, it was at the cost of more magical blood than he had ever thought possible. Was this what he truly wanted? And how could she, fighting as she was with little restraint, find time to love him? Tom Riddle did not like it when things did not make sense. And this mudbloods mind was resting gently on the verge of senselessness. Despite the little resistance she had put up, he knew she had only let him see what she wished. Around the edges of her memories there was a darkness, a dimness, a quality only seen in the minds of those that were slowly slipping into insanity.

Tom felt obliged to use this to his advantage.

He fully intended to do so when he slipped from her mind and yet _she_ had taken advantage of _him_. Overcome with the unsettling and unrelenting force of emotion that accompanied her memories, Tom had been at a disadvantage. She had raised her wand a flicked it fast, non-verbally too, and the spell had been dark and powerful and he had not known the counter curse, nor recognised the spell itself. This memory filled him with rage and he stood, momentarily seeing nothing but red as his vision clouded with blood lust. Where was she?

"Tom? Are you awake? You must be hungry let me pour you some tea."

Blinking wildly Tom spun around, only to be confronted by the last scene he had ever expected to see in Salazar's chamber of secrets. The mudblood stood behind a table, which was covered in a pretty tablecloth and piled with food. His treacherous stomach rumbled and he moved forward unwillingly, and yet with very little control over his own feet.

"I'm sorry I cursed you Tom, it was just an automatic reaction to the invasion of my mind. I hope you can forgive me?" She smiled prettily at him but her eyes were void of emotion and were as flat and dark as his own. He made no mention of this observation however, as he sat down at the table and allowed her to pour him tea. He also noted that in order to procure this feast she would have had to leave the chamber, thus subtly letting him know that she knew her way around.

"I see you know this place well, how can one with blood such as yours be so familiar with Salazar's most secret place?" Tom glanced at her in order to gage her response but she did not reply, only continued to busy herself pouring tea and folding napkins. He could tell she was trying to get him to react.

"They say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach." She suddenly mentioned, as though this were the most normal of teas and he were the most normal of dates.

She really must be slipping in her sanity.

Hermione, was, however, fully in control of herself for once. She could sense Tom's confusion, it was well hidden but still there, somewhere. She could see his eyes were fixed upon her and she allowed her own to glance at him often. He really was beautiful. He was the Venus fly trap personified and she would have to be more than the humble fly if she were ever to fulfil her plan.

Suddenly Tom stood and, with a flick of his wand he caused the table to vanish. They were alone now, with no pretence between them, and the air seemed to crackle around them in expectation.

Hermione raised her own wand before her in preparation. It seemed as though Tom had decided what to do, and it did not look good for her.

"Crucio!" He always liked to say that one aloud, so that the recipient knew what was coming. That in itself was a precursor to the torture. This girl, however merely stepped to one side allowing his curse to harmlessly smash into the wall behind her. She had a small smile on her face and was twirling her wand through her fingers as though it were nothing more than a harmless piece of wood.

"Are you sure this is what you want Tom?" Hermione asked, never allowing her gaze to slip from where it bored into his own.

"What? To see another filthy mudblood writhing on the floor under the force of my spell? Of course that is what I want!" Tom laughed again, that disarming laugh that was so wrong coming from lips such as those. Such flawless beauty. Hermione stopped that train of thought, now was not the time to give in to such madness.

Slowly, with precision she bowed before him, never letting her eyes break their connection with his own. Smirking, Tom returned the bow, to duel him was to die and he looked forward to proving that to her.

Slashing her wand with sudden violent precision she shot a flash of green light his way. Tom was forced to step aside and allow the killing curse to fly harmlessly past him, he was not used to having to concede to anything. "I thought you loved me." He tried to goad her from across the room, "Is this how you show me? With death?"

Hermione smiled at him, her eyes growing wild. "Oh Tom, at no point did I tell you I loved you. You should really learn to listen. I am here to challenge you, I am here to make you question everything. How could I love you? When I hate you more than life itself?"

Tom was struck by her turn of phrase, had she not said that wrong? Before he could ponder it at any length, however, she began to throw a steady barrage of curses towards him, each one darker than the last.

"How is a mudblood so familiar with spells such as this?" He questioned, though without really expecting a reply. He was just trying to distract her from the fact that his own spells were weaker, though more precise. She was wild in her casting, filled with a fire that seemed to overtake her senses, she could not cast one spell when she could cast two in its place.

"I learned from you Tom" She replied. "I learned from you that only darkness can defeat darkness. I learned from you that there is no light in the dark, and so I became that which I hate."

Her words struck Tom, he could sense a layer of hidden meaning to them but it was, as yet, not revealing itself to him. He reacted to her onslaught of spells in kind, beginning to tire of her games. He would win this duel and end this night and abandon her to her fate.

Suddenly she called out the name of a spell he did not know. Before he had a chance to wonder why she had used a verbal spell instead of the non-verbal she seemed to favour he allowed his need for self-preservation to take over. Slashing his wand he sent a killing curse her way, it rebounded with her own spell and caused both to crash into her, ripping her apart and letting her blood spill all over the sacred floor. That must have been the reaction from her own spell, Tom mused as he stepped towards the body.

It took a moment, long enough for him to look down upon the dead witch and see the look on her face, before Tom realised what had just occurred.

This mudblood, this strange, unhinged girl from the future with her beautiful, dead eyes and a look of utmost joy upon her face.

She had been his first kill.

Decades later Lord Voldemort awoke suddenly, in the red velvet chair in which he had been resting. He was consumed by the dream that had just left him, meaning it took him a moment to return to his senses. When he did he knew it had not been a dream, it was one of his greatest memories, the one that had changed his path and led him to his future.

Striding over to the mirror Tom stood before it and gazed at his reflection as he did often, now that his years were more advanced, he watched for a change that would not come. Her memories had engulfed him, even once she was dead she would not leave his mind. He had known then that the future must not continue on that course. Magical blood was the most important thing in this world, and yet he had seen himself spill it, until there was precious little left. He had seen himself destroy the world he held dear, more important to him than any other living thing, except for her.

Tom Riddle had vowed from that day forth that his first kill would mean something. I would bring him one step closer to making this world his, one step closer to ruling in a way that meant magical blood would thrive.

Not spilled in the streets like a common muggle's.

He had waited a long time, and it had taken magic he had not known even existed, but he had waited for her. When she was born he took her, knowing that her future would belong to him, he had not known that she would continue to shape his own.

Tom Riddle, more often Lord Voldemort, stood looking at his reflection. The red eyes and pale skin were present, a reminder of the boundaries of magic he had managed to destroy. However, time itself had stood still for him, for his reflection was almost as youthful and flawless as it had been that day in the chamber. He had decided to retain this face which had proven so useful at luring others into a false sense of security, and he could hide his vicious eye colour if he so wished. Deep down he recognised that a small part of this decision had been for her.

When she had eventually entered the world at the present time he had almost given up hope of ever finding her. Forty years had passed before he felt her presence and knew it was time. He had taken her from her parents, killing them for good measure, and had the small, innocent babe adopted into an ancient pureblood family. His followers really would do anything for him.

Respectable in the ways that mattered she had grown into a better version of the girl in the chamber. Dark magic was a part of her life, not just something she had adopted to survive. Her sanity was relatively intact too, which was something he had striven to achieve, she would be no use to him dead a second time.

"Tom?"

A voice called from the adjoining room and a small smile flickered over his features. Only she could use that filthy, muggle name, and it took on a whole other meaning when uttered from her lips. Taking a last look at the face he had preserved for her he moved towards her voice. He was silent in his footsteps and as usual managed to startle her when he moved in close behind her and kissed her upon her neck. Her skin was cool to his touch and when she turned her eyes were dark, and yet there was a spark within them that he noted with pride.

In this existence he had ignited it, rather than extinguished it.

Moving together in a passionate rhythm, as they were often wont to do, the lovers lost track of time. Which was ironic really, seeing as time had played such a role in, not only their own lives, but the lives of all other magical beings.

Oblivious to this fact, Hermione fell asleep, sated and happy. Her dreams were dark and strange like they often were, containing people and places that were unfamiliar. However, all this was forgotten upon awakening. Her only conscious memories were of flawless skin and dark eyes, and a laugh that sent shivers down her spine.

No matter which life she lived, Tom Riddle consumed her.


End file.
